


Withering Iris

by mylittlejaybird



Series: Falling Marigold [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Asphyxiation, Bloodplay, Body Horror, Consensual Violence, Edgeplay, How Do I Tag, Inhuman Biology, Knifeplay, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Smoke for blood, Too Many Teeth, Too many eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylittlejaybird/pseuds/mylittlejaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaper approaches Zenyatta with a proposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or: That time Zenyatta repeatedly brought Reaper close to death because it makes Reaper feel alive again. The irony is not lost on either of them.

Zenyatta sat lotus-style on the floor of his room within their current base, a candle lit before him. He found the flicker of the flame peaceful, reminiscent of the Iris. He would not touch that sacred place unless necessary, but a simple flame evoked the same sense of serenity within him.

His sensors picked up on the atmospheric changes before he heard anything. He didn’t move, speaking softly, “You need not hide.”

There was no answer. There hadn’t been any of the other times he’d tried speaking to the mysterious presence either. He was fairly certain he knew what it was. What escaped him was why it had continuously sought him out if not to kill him and his friends.

He had meditated on the matter for many nights. The presence didn’t visit him often, and rarely stayed long.

“I wonder if you have something to ask of me. Perhaps you do not know how.” He very carefully kept his tone solemn; if the shadow behind him thought he was laughing at it, he may not survive the consequences. “I admit to being very curious. This is the third city. The sixteenth night.”

The air pressure shifted, growing thicker. It wasn’t unlike the atmospheric drop before a storm, but it lacked the promise of rain. It held the possibility of violence though.

The voice that rumbled from the shadows was neither human nor omnic. “You’re partially right.”

Zenyatta allowed the lights on his forehead to brighten, coming out of his meditative state at the first real confirmation of his suspicions. He kept his body language relaxed and nonthreatening. “Enlighten me.”

A low growl sent minor sparks along his circuitry, preparing his body for a rush of energy should he need to fight. He didn’t fight the rising energy, but he did not encourage it either.

Reaper melted out of the shadows behind him. He was dressed in his usual attire, though his hands lacked the massive shotguns Zenyatta was accustomed to seeing him with. A small blessing, considering the amount of times those guns had injured himself and his friends.

Solid now, his boots were heavy on the floor when he walked to Zenyatta’s side. The small flame from the candle leaned away from him; the mist that danced around his form consumed the light as though it were a living thing. The white of the mask reflected it, however, creating an eerie juxtaposition.

Zenyatta turned his head up to look at the wraith of a man. “Perhaps you would like to sit with me a while.”

And perhaps he should have told his friends of the very deadly threat that had been ghosting after them for the last few months. The ease with which Reaper infiltrated their bases without alerting the security measures in place was astonishing, and terrifying.

Yet he had kept his silence, and Reaper had not killed anyone. Whatever he was after, it had nothing to do with Overwatch or its members. For some reason, he only had eyes for Zenyatta. The omnic had a few guesses as to why, each bringing forth more questions that needed answers.

“I have a proposition.” Reaper crossed his arms, striking a rather imposing figure in the small bedroom. Zenyatta wondered if perhaps it wasn’t a sign of vulnerability; whatever Reaper was now, he had been a man, once.

He didn’t look away from that expressionless mask. It was reminiscent of an omnic’s face, yet it had been made to evoke fear. Omnics merely evoked fear due to their kind’s history with mankind. It was rarely intentional, nowadays. “I am all ears, as they say.”

Reaper’s sneer was audible. “Stand up.”

Zenyatta obliged, rising to his feet and turning to face him. He held his hands with the palms together, level with his own solar plexus. “Is this sufficient?”

The bone white mask dipped before slowly raising back to his face - a once-over. Zenyatta supposed that the man that Reaper had once been might have been put off by the omnic being naked by human standards. The clothing he wore was symbolic, and he tried to keep the wear on them down to a minimum by not donning them in private.

The wraith Reaper was now seemed disinterested in his unclothed state.

“You knew, and yet you didn’t rat me out. Why?” The distrust was almost oily enough to coat his throat.

He tried to put Reaper at ease: “I have had many students during my time as a Shambali monk. Some of them I took in of my own accord. Others sought me out.” He bowed his head towards Reaper.

“I’m not one of your students, _omnic_.” He said the word like it was a curse; some did still think they were a blight.

Zenyatta held no ill will towards him for it, merely gave a small nod. “What is your proposition?”

Reaper shifted, and Zenyatta wondered if he’d ever seen such discomfort from him before. He should cease comparing this Reaper with the one he knew from the battlefield. He was not foolish enough to think that that Reaper couldn’t make an appearance at any time, but to assume his inevitable participation was doing this Reaper a disservice.

“You’re an omnic,” Reaper began. “You do not understand things as human beings do.”

Zenyatta merely waited for him to continue, giving him a small nod of encouragement. He wasn’t wrong.

“Your morals are different. You think in logic and probability. You lack emotions.”

At this Zenyatta wished to intervene, but he would hear Reaper out. It had taken months for the wraith to work up the courage to speak to him. He would not risk chasing him out so quickly on a disagreement. There would be time to speak of it later, once he knew what it was Reaper wanted.

“You are a capable killer. I’ve seen it. Talon mercs have crumpled before you.”

Zenyatta flipped one of his palms to face Reaper, raising it slightly in a request for silence. When Reaper did not immediately continue talking, he took it as permission, resting his palms together again. “I am intimately familiar with death. When I touch the Iris I balance on the brink. I see the life essence within all those around me.”

Reaper exhaled a sound of impatience from behind his mask. His next words were rushed, a forced admission that he obviously took no pleasure in sharing. “I’m _im_ balanced between life and death. Life is dull, like ashes in my mouth.” He paused, perhaps remembering that an omnic would have no point of reference for that particular metaphor. He seemed to conclude it was unimportant and continued, “But death is invigorating. It is being blind and suddenly being able to see again.”

Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, quietly intrigued by the poetic nature of Reaper’s words. “Do you wish me to kill you?”

Reaper straightened, hands dropping to his sides. “More or less.”

“Specifics would be appreciated in this situation.” He was not going to play a guessing game when a life was on the line. Besides, if it was merely death Reaper desired, he would have gone to Widowmaker or perhaps even Soldier: 76. Yet he stood before him instead. There was more to this than a deathwish.

The smoke that billowed around Reaper grew slightly more agitated, though his body language gave nothing away. “Are you familiar with edging, omnic?”

“I am familiar with it as a sexual term. One is brought to the edge of release, only to have it delayed, or denied entirely.”

Zenyatta did not share the views of his brothers and sisters of the Shambali when it came to sexual matters. They abstained. He had not. So many humans found comfort and peace in the act; how could he possibly deny such intimacy when his goal was to be close to people.

If Reaper was surprised by this, he didn’t show it. “Yeah. What I want is like that, but with death.”

Zenyatta allowed himself to process the implications there for several moments. If he was understanding correctly, based on the scattered train of thought the wraith was sharing, then there was only one conclusion. However unlikely it might be. “You wish to be brought to the brink of death?”

“Repeatedly.”

“To what end?”

“Death.” No hesitance.

Zenyatta considered it. Reaper was incapable of actually dying, so far as he knew. All reports included notes on his seemingly immortal form, withstanding a multitude of weapons and scenarios that would kill a human or omnic.

“What of pain?”

Reaper’s vicious grin didn’t need to be visible to make itself heard. “Yes.”

As an omnic and monk of the Shambali, Zenyatta was in a unique position to help Reaper. He could see his life essence, and know what the brink of death looked like without ever crossing it. He had the strength to hurt Reaper, and would not feel guilty doing so if he had full consent ahead of time.

He also had the means to kill Reaper - _actually_ kill Reaper.

He didn’t know if Reaper knew that last part, but he had no intention of pushing Reaper into the Iris. That was not what was being asked of him.

“I do not wish to kill you.” He held up a hand preemptively to cut Reaper’s words off. “Not in such a way that it will be permanent. Can you guarantee you will return?”

A low growl had his circuitry sparking again, but he didn’t waver, even when Reaper reached out and curled a clawed gauntlet around his throat. His fingers flexed against the cables and wires, pulling the omnic forward and onto his toes. Zenyatta’s nine blue optics met the twin flames that could have been Reaper’s eyes, struggling to see past the rush of smoke that washed over his faceplate from beneath Reaper’s mask.

“You think I got a deathwish, omnic?”

Zenyatta calmly raised a hand and curled it around Reaper’s throat in turn, mimicking the flex of his fingers and marvelling at the sharp intake of breath the action got him. “Is that not the entire purpose of your visit?”

The red blaze of Reaper’s eyes flared even brighter before he spun with Zenyatta in hand and slammed him up against a wall, rattling his optic sensors and causing his vision to flicker for a moment. He made no sound beyond that of his body colliding dully with the wall, and his internals slowly charging with energy that he had no way to dissipate.

“Don’t patronize me!” He snarled. “Don’t think I won’t hurt you just because I haven’t yet.”

Zenyatta maintained his grip on Reaper’s throat, sliding the other up the man’s abdomen, flattening it over his solar plexus. “I don’t assume anything. I ask for clarification, nothing more.” He paused, then dipped his head minutely. “I apologize for poking fun. Don’t mistake my attempt at humor for naivety at the gravity of this situation. I am fully aware of what you are capable of.”

“Damn right you do.” Reaper straightened and let go of Zenyatta’s throat. Zenyatta returned the favor, returning both hands to their position in front of himself, palms once more together.

“Do I have your assurance that you will not permanently die by my hand?”

Reaper snorted. “Yeah, sure. _Mierda_ , need me to sign a consent form too?”

Zenyatta tilted his head slightly. “I have some, if that is your desire.”

He knew he had surprised the wraith by the shocked silence that followed. Reaper’s scowl was audible in his words: “You’re fucking with me again.”

“A little. I have never understood the need for solemnity during such acts of intimacy.” He projected as much sincerity into his voice box as he was capable of. “If this is how you wish to feel alive again, then I will do my utmost best to assist you.”

Reaper stared at him. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask more questions? Demand I go elsewhere? Ask about my motives?”

Zenyatta spread his hands peacefully. “You came to me with a specific request. I am capable and willing to help you.” He looked Reaper over. “I may have more questions yet. But they are only to ensure I am fulfilling your desires, nothing more.”

The black smoke billowing from Reaper looked more agitated at this despite Zenyatta’s reassuring tone. “Gotta admit, omnic - I wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily.”

Zenyatta reached out and rested a hand on Reaper’s chest lightly. “It is not an easy decision to make. You have severely injured us again and again. But I sense that this is of great importance to you.” He tilted his head. “Else you would not be standing before me.”

The hand wasn’t immediately removed; Reaper glanced down at it before he looked back up at the omnic. He made no movement to make him stop, so Zenyatta allowed his thumb to rub a soothing circle against the man’s chest, willing him to relax.

“It wasn’t easy to come to you,” Reaper said, voice a growl. “Do not make me regret it.”

Zenyatta slid his hand up again, fingers brushing over the kevlar that covered Reaper’s throat. “I require safewords to be agreed upon beforehand. You may not be able to be killed, and you may enjoy certain kinds of pain, but to give yourself over to another so fully is a dangerous game in and of itself. I will not overstep the boundaries you give me.”

Reaper’s gauntleted hands twitched, as though he wished to push the omnic away. Zenyatta waited for his answer patiently. Finally the wraith huffed, expelling black smoke from under the mask that dissipated quickly. “If I say no, it means no.”

“And if you are unsure?”

Another low growl, deeper than any human vocal chords could manage. “I will say as such. I am not a _pendejo_.”

“Hard limits?” He pressed his thumb lightly against Reaper’s throat, feeling him swallow against it.

Reaper stared at him, incredulous. “...You’re gonna hurt me, and eventually kill me, and you think I have hard limits?”

Zenyatta pressed a little harder with a low hum. “I am asking.”

“No.”

“Are you looking for an orgasm during this?”

Reaper leaned back a little at that. “What? No. That’s not the kind of release I want. I’m not some snuff freak who gets off on dying.”

“There is no judgement from me either way.” He gave no warning before wrapping his hand around Reaper’s throat and turning to slam him into a wall, flipping their position in the same manner the wraith had earlier. The hitch in Reaper’s breath was worth the brief shriek of a clawed gauntlet grasping his arm, metal on metal - that would leave a mark.

But beyond that, Reaper didn’t fight back. The black smoke curled tightly around him, barely straying from his form before twisting back in on itself.

“Are we to do this with your clothes on?” Zenyatta plucked at the heavy coat with his spare hand, cocking his head.

The grip on his arm tightened enough that his inner sensors blared a warning that wires were being pinched within. Luckily Reaper let him go moments later. The smoke swirled as though he were about to disappear from the room, but it settled before long and revealed Reaper once more. This time, he was missing most of his armor and weapons.

He still wore his mask and the hood, and was covered head to toe in a protective undersuit. His gauntlets had been replaced with gloves, and his heavy metal boots with thick leather ones. Zenyatta masked his amusement with a hum, looking Reaper over. “That is certainly an interesting ability.”

“You talk an awful lot. I thought your student was the chatty one.” His sneer was audible in his voice. Smoke curled around Zenyatta’s arm and legs, eerily not setting off his sensors despite slipping between his plating and joints.

“You do not know me very well at all if you think I am quiet,” Zenyatta said. He looked Reaper over before stepping back and striking out, the flat of his palm slamming into Reaper’s sternum. He pulled his blow so that it didn’t break anything, but the air in Reaper’s lungs rushed out of his body in a cloud of smoke.

Zenyatta didn’t give him a chance to recover, catching him by the throat and slamming him against the wall again. This time his fingers were a vice, allowing no air to pass, though Reaper’s chest heaved with the effort of his body trying anyways. “I shall start off simple to begin with. I have met many that enjoyed this particular act.”

His nine blue optics glowed softly against Reaper’s mask, which gave away nothing of what the wraith was thinking. His hands had curled into fists at his sides; physically restraining himself from fighting back, Zenyatta imagined.

Lacking muscles meant his arm didn’t grow tired from pinning Reaper in place. He pressed his other hand to Reaper’s solar plexus once more and applied pressure to keep him from moving too much under him. He was stronger than he looked, his metal limbs containing more power than most assumed.

He didn’t need to touch the Iris to watch the spark of Reaper’s life force fade before him. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was neither human nor omnic, and flared brightly as it fought the inevitable. He had expected him to struggle against him, to fight against the very thing he had come to him for in the first place. Perhaps he’d underestimated the wraith.

That was a dangerous thought.

He waited until that spark was dimmer than most humans could recover from, until Reaper had sagged under his grip so that his hands were all the held him up; then, and only then, did he loosen his finger around his neck and strike his sternum once more to shock his lungs into taking a deep breath.

Reaper instantly became smoke beneath his fingers, rushing past him and reforming behind him on all fours, coughing up great lungfuls of black smoke. Zenyatta turned to observe him, fingers steepled in front of him. Reaper wheezed before the sound morphed into a laugh, somehow deeper and raspier than before.

Zenyatta kneeled beside him and rested a hand on his back lightly, concern coloring his tone. “Are you alright?”

Reaper twisted his head to look up at him, voice carrying the vicious grin that lay under the mask. “ _More._ ”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know whether I want to continue this or not? I could go so many directions with it 9_6
> 
> Edit: Woah, okay, didn't expect this to get such positive reviews. Thank you so much, wow. I guess another chapter is incoming, this one hopefully in Reaper's POV. Stay tuned!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper wants more. He gets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reaper POV this time!

Anticipation sang through his veins as he looked up at the cold, expressionless face of the omnic at his side. His throat and lungs burned with the rush of oxygen that flooded through and into them.

Reaper wondered what other organs the monk could toy with. The thought thrilled him.

Zenyatta took him at his word and used the hand on the small of his back to slam him down face-first flat on the floor. A cloud of black smoke puffed from beneath Reaper’s mask, the remnant of whatever air he’d managed to draw in.

Metal legs straddled his torso, and he growled low in his throat before it was cut off rather effectively by the hand around it. It pulled his head back at a sharp angle, and he twisted beneath the omnic reflexively before he settled, smoke billowing up, around and between the monk’s inner workings. 

He could  _ feel _ the omnic above him, more intimately than the monk would ever know, but he couldn’t see him. That didn’t sit well with him, even if he wasn’t missing any facial expressions or body language cues. Old habits died hard. He snorted and turned to smoke beneath Zenyatta, reforming in the same place, but flipped onto his back.

Reaper took a deep breath of air, free of Zenyatta’s hand, and marveled at the feel of it for a moment. Zenyatta didn’t seem phased by the change in position, settling his weight on Reaper’s abdomen once he was solid beneath him. The candle lit him from behind, leaving the darkness between them lit only by the omnic’s optics.

“Were you uncomfortable, my student?”

Damn him, he could  _ hear _ the lilt of humor in that inhuman voice. He darted a gloved hand up and curled his fingers around a chest piston, yanking him closer and hissing directly up at his expressionless face plate. “Don’t sass me,  _ omnic _ .”

Zenyatta’s voice was absolutely laced with amusement when he next spoke. “Most of my students call me Master.”

He snarled up at him, jerking the piston in his hand roughly. “ _ ¡No me jodas!” _

Zenyatta made no attempt to protect himself, merely bracing his arms on either side of Reaper’s head. His mala was missing from around his neck, something Reaper found unsettling - it made the omnic seem naked where the lack of clothes hadn’t.

The nine optics glowed softly on his forehead, and Reaper sneered and shoved him away. Zenyatta didn’t move far, remaining braced on all fours over top of him. “We would need to relocate for me to truly fulfill this fantasy of yours. I suspect it may get... messy.”

Reaper scowled. He understood what Zenyatta was getting at. He rumbled deep in his chest and held up a hand, the shadows coalescing around it before dissipating to reveal a wicked looking blade. The monk didn’t flinch when he immediately sank it deep in his own chest, the hilt flush against his flesh.

The pain barely registered. When he pulled the blade out, no blood spilled forth. Instead, a thick, black smoke slid out and down his side, settling on the floor like a thin layer of fog before disappearing as it rolled away from him. The wound remained, leaking more of the fog-like smoke at the same rate it would have bled.

The omnic observed this display wordlessly, optics brighter. Reaper watched as the monk raised a hand and traced a finger through the smoke escaping the wound, causing it to swirl around the digit before dissipating. He nodded at the blade still in Reaper’s hand. “May I?”

He offered the knife to the omnic, laid out flat in the palm of his upturned hand. Zenyatta didn’t hesitate in taking it from him, holding it up for inspection. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded and turned his optic array onto Reaper again

“Thank you,  _ lechuza. _ ” 

The blade sunk into his chest before he had the chance to protest or offer a snide comment in return. He snarled at the bright flash of pain before it dulled, his body already deadening his nerve endings.

The monk was quiet above him as he twisted the knife almost gently, but all Reaper could feel was a kind of pressure.

“Can’t feel it anymore,” he grunted.

“You are truly remarkable, Reaper.” The wraith didn’t know which was worse, the earlier pet name or the praise, so he decided to ignore both. Smoke had started to seep from him as Zenyatta twisted the blade back.

Zenyatta raised a hand and Reaper tensed when an orb flew out of the darkness, the candlelight behind the omnic flickering slightly before steadying once more. It circled the monk’s head before settling over his outstretched hand, spinning slowly. Zenyatta let go of the knife and ran a soothing hand over Reaper’s chest, much to his chagrin. “Be at ease, my student. I will take care of your needs.”

A low growl rumbled from the wraith’s chest. “I’m not your student  _ cabrón _ .”

Zenyatta only hummed in acknowledgement before he drew energy from the orb and thrust it into the self-inflicted wound. Reaper inhaled sharply when it stung worse than the initial wound for a brief moment before healing over completely.

“...Huh.” He touched his chest. His clothes had ‘healed’ as well, leaving no hint that there’d been an injury there prior. He looked up at the omnic, tone dry. “Kind of counterproductive, though.”

This time the omnic thrust the energy into the wound where the knife was still embedded in his flesh. White hot pain made him arch as his body tried to heal around the weapon. Zenyatta hummed to himself again, and Reaper could’ve sworn he sounded  _ pleased. _

Zenyatta twisted the knife, pulling a quick sharp sound from Reaper as more pain flared around the steel embedded within him. The omnic pulled it out, the wound healing over seamlessly. Reaper exhaled as his body relaxed, trying to keep his disappointment to himself when he looked up to see what the monk would do next.

“Inflicting pain is a simple enough endeavor, then.” The omnic said practically. Reaper had a sinking suspicion he was going to be forced to either deal with the teacher/student dynamic or find elsewhere to get what he needed. He quieted the brief flutter in his chest at the thought of pursuing  _ that _ particular course of action. “But pain is not our end goal. I am going to try something else.”

“Just get on with it. I don’t need you holding my hand through everything,” Reaper spat, shifting in agitation below him.

He cried out in genuine shock and pain when the omnic stabbed him between the ribs again, hitting one of his lungs this time. Precision perfect. Damned  _ robot _ . He almost missed the monk withdrawing dark energy from the orb. He didn’t miss him thrusting it at him.

Reaper coughed and smoke billowed above him, trickling from beneath his mask. It dissipated slowly. The wound pulsed, and his nerve endings flared with agony. He gripped the floor with gloved hands, trying to keep himself grounded.

The pain didn’t recede or die down, staying fresh and bright. He wheezed wetly, the sound bubbly despite him having no blood to choke on. He questioned his certainty that the omnic couldn’t kill him - wouldn’t kill him.

He had told no one he was coming here. Oh, the Widowmaker suspected, but her conditioning had weakened enough that she could keep the smallest of secrets now so long as she had plausible deniability.

The knife twisted inside him and wrenched another shout from him as he writhed to try and escape it. His form ghosted at the edges as he tried to retain physical form. The cutting edge sliced through his flesh as easily as the most tender sirloin, leaving a gash in its wake that had a thick stream of smoke flowing forth and pooling around him.

The Widowmaker. He had considered going to her with this request. What a perfect match they would have made. Him - a wraith that could never die despite experiencing a multitude of deaths; her - a sleeper agent conditioned to only feel pleasure when she killed. 

A hard, unforgiving hand wrapped around his throat and held him immobile, cutting off his air and forcing it from him in a wave of smoke from the wound on his chest instead. He tried to lose himself in the sensations, but his mind would not still.

If asked the sniper assassin would turn him in without a hint of remorse. Their working relationship was tenuous at best. She had been forced to obey Talon, he had joined their cause because it happened to line up with his own. They worked well together. That was the extent of how things could be, and would be.

Zenyatta pulled the knife from him, yet the pain remained. Smoke spilled from his chest with every breath, the sound wetter than usual. He had the brief urge to take the knife and bury it in the cords of the omnic’s neck - leave his empty husk behind for his so-called friends to find in the morning.

“Are you still with me Reaper?” Zenyatta’s voice cut through his thoughts. He lifted his chin to allow the monk to get a better grip around his throat, silent consent. The omnic flexed his fingers, taking him at his word, and then the knife had buried itself in his abdomen. Reaper bucked under the omnic, reflexively trying to throw him off. The monk’s legs tightened around his hips, and the metal of his pelvis sat firmly over his own. 

He could ghost away, but what then? He’d have no one to turn to. And this omnic, damn him, had given him a taste of what he had craved for so long, and he wanted - no,  _ needed _ \- to feel more of it. He shoved his doubts to the back of his mind and focused on the dull throb beneath his ribcage. Whatever the darker energy was that Zenyatta had pushed inside him, it had left  _ all _ of him more vulnerable.

“Deep breaths.”

Reaper snarled and pointedly lunged up at him. The metal hand around his throat didn’t budge an inch, and neither did he. He could no more breathe than the omnic with it there.

Fire lanced up his side when Zenyatta twisted the blade, no ribs to stop it from tearing through his innards with ease. He cried out, a gush of smoke flowing from his chest wound. It only took a few moments of struggling for him to realize he  _ could _ breathe. The wet rattle was him respiring through the hole in his chest rather than his nose or mouth. 

_ Well _ then.

He stilled, focusing on forcing air in and out of his lungs. He could inflate the uninjured one with some effort, them sharing a trachea between them. His body ceased trying to slip into the safety and comfort of the shadows, remaining solid beneath the omnic.

“That’s better. Keep breathing, my pupil. This will be easier if you breathe through it.”

Reaper wanted to demand  _ what _ , exactly, would be easier, but he’d already told the omnic that he didn’t need to be walked through everything. At least the monk took instruction well. And yet he thought he was the teacher.  _ Master _ , his mind helpfully reminded him. He sneered. 

Not in this life, or any other.

Then the omnic began to systematically  _ hurt _ him, though in no pattern that Reaper could discern. The blade sliced through flesh and cloth and scraped against the occasional bone, slipped into vital organs within his abdomen and into the muscle of his arms. Surprisingly gentle fingers spread the wounds and traced the contents within, the pain flaring anew with each caress. 

It was a juxtaposition of violence and tenderness that left Reaper panting heavily. Both lungs had been perforated, and when Zenyatta hurt him just right, a plume of smoke would erupt from his chest as he cried out, falling around them like the thickest of fog. The distance the smoke that made up his body spread from him before curling back in on itself had increased exponentially, and the floor within a six foot radius from either of them was nothing but roiling darkness.

His vision had long since hyperfocused on the nine blue optics of the omnic, unable to see anything else in the darkness. The candle had either gone out or had been swallowed by his smoke. And while the pain showed no sign of stopping, he also felt no closer to dying. He shifted beneath the omnic, and somehow the monk knew that this was different from his other movements. He filed that away for later contemplation.

“Be still.” Zenyatta’s voice was somehow comforting. Reaper struggled to think through the sluggishness that had enveloped his thoughts. “I would learn you,  _ lechuza _ . Allow me this indulgence and I will make it that much better for you.”

A growl began in his chest but sputtered out before it could grow enough to be audible. He settled for curling his hands around Zenyatta’s abdominal pistons, metallic claws forming on the ends of his fingers. He ran them over the exposed wires and cords behind the pistons. The message was clear enough.

Yet, the omnic had the audacity to  _ chuckle _ . “I have not forgotten which of us is in control, Reaper. You need not remind me.”

His snort merely made the flesh around his wounds flutter weakly. Zenyatta seemed to pick up on the sentiment regardless. The omnic’s thumb on the hand around his throat stroked his jaw soothingly before he sank the blade into the wraith’s thigh. Reaper barely grunted; he’d had most of his major organs penetrated - a major muscle group was almost a kindness. 

Zenyatta left it there and raised his hand to withdraw more of the dark energy from the orb, somehow visible in the darkness. 

“This will test your threshold for pain, my student. May I request you remove your hands from my pistons in the very likely event that you struggle?”

The rolling of his eyes wasn’t something he could convey, but he did it anyways. He let the omnic go and rid his fingertips of the claws that normally adorned them, placing them palm down on the ground, the smoke resting there swirling lazily around his digits.

“My thanks.” Zenyatta thrust the energy into Reaper, and the wraith  _ screamed _ .

Every injury, every wound, lit up anew. He had thought they hurt before, but now he was receiving them again instantaneously with no sign of the pain ceasing. His fingers curled into the ground, disturbing the smoke further. Smoke, too much of it, rose from his chest as he tried fruitlessly to produce a noise that would reflect the sheer agony he found himself in. He barely managed a rattling wheeze. He thrashed and bucked, but the monk held him down with frightening ease.

“Let go Reaper. Allow yourself to feel.”

He didn’t know what the damned omnic thought he was doing if not  _ feeling _ , but he stopped struggling and allowed himself to sink into the pain, feel every wound Zenyatta had inflicted. He was... rather startled by the amount of damage his body currently bore. Usually he’d have ghosted and reformed by now, rendering any and all injuries as though they’d never been.

And  _ mierda _ , everything  _ hurt _ . The weight of the omnic atop him was grounding, but he could still feel himself slipping, losing form in his extremities. The blade in his thigh slowly slipped out as the flesh around it shifted between solid muscle and smoke. His fingers tried to grip the ground even as they sunk through it. He bucked as the pain had him writhing more, never dulling, remaining steady and sharp and so very  _ heated _ .

The knife clinked to the ground, black smoke swirling away from it before engulfing it, the weapon disappearing. The monk hummed as he did when Reaper did something he found interesting, and the wraith snarled and writhed.

The feel of metal fingers prying apart the edges of his wounds had him stilling very quickly. And then they sunk  _ deep _ within his abdomen, almost to the knuckle, and he screamed soundlessly.

“ _Llores por mí_ _tecolote_.” Zenyatta said in a hushed voice. “Let me hear your death."

The hand around his throat was removed and his voice poured forth, anguished and relieved.  _ Finally _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping for at least one more chapter out of this, but we'll see how it goes. Kind of making this up as I go along!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boundaries are tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Zenyatta's POV. Uh, heed the new tags.

 

Reaper’s cry was loud if not short-lived. He  _ collapsed _ beneath Zenyatta, body struggling to maintain its human form. The smoke writhed and billowed between his legs, pushing his fingers out of Reaper’s flesh and pulsing as the last echoes of the wraith’s final scream died off.

The omnic brushed a hand over the suddenly still body, watching as the smoke curled around his fingers with the tenderness of a lover’s kiss. A pretty - and dangerous - lie. He continued to stroke his digits along the semi-solid mass until it gave a slight shudder beneath him.

“I will tend to your wounds.” He raised a hand to gather energy from his orb to heal him. He barely managed not to flinch in surprise when Reaper shot his arm out to enclose his fingers around the omnic’s dainty wrist, grinding the wires there together painfully. 

“Leave it,” the wraith growled, once more solid beneath him. Smoke still spilled from his many wounds, but it was slower now, lighter. Zenyatta acquiesced and Reaper let go of him shortly after.

“How do you feel?” The omnic inquired, still not moving from his position straddling the wraith’s abdomen. The orb circling his head chimed soothingly, flashing softly lit runes in the darkness.

A low raspy laugh answered him, though Reaper quickly sobered, the sound dying off. “Well enough.”

Zenyatta cocked his head, resting a hand on Reaper’s chest. He could faintly feel the slow  _ thud-thud _ of the wraith’s heart beneath his fingertips. “You do not wish to stop?”

It was easy enough to feel Reaper’s eyes on him, the full attention of him bearing down on the monk like a relentless weight. “No.” A pause, and then, tone carefully neutral: “Do you?”

The omnic looked over the wraith, once more observing the multitude of wounds covering him, cataloguing each to his memory banks. “I’m not opposed to continuing. Are you sure you won’t allow me to heal you first?”

The wraith gazed up at him for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ve already healed the worst of it.”

An amused hum vibrated through the monk. “I had assumed as much since you are able to speak.” He stroked his hand gently over Reaper’s chest, fingers caressing around the still open wounds. “Did you enjoy having me inside you?”

A barely audible hitch of breath reached his sensors and he hummed in satisfaction. Reaper did not seem to share the sentiment, snarling and shoving the omnic so that he could slip out from under him, pointedly not ghosting, presumably so as not to heal his wounds further. He crouched with one knee on the ground, his hands resting between his thighs, head lifted to watch the omnic. Some of his wounds expelled fresh clouds of smoke that settled around his feet like a shallow puddle.

“ _ Chingate.  _ Do not think I  _ enjoy _ any of this with you, omnic.” The hostility from earlier was back, making the lines of Reaper’s body stiff with distrust.

Zenyatta settled into a lotus position across from him. “I understand that I am merely a means to an end for you.” The orb chimed softly beside his head, briefly illuminating the wraith’s mask in the darkness. “But I can’t fulfill this desire of yours if you keep yourself closed off from me, my student.”

A low warning growl rumbled from deep within Reaper. “You want me to trust you?” A scoff. “Not as far as I can throw you.”

“I could levitate, if that would make it easier.”

“Make what easi-” The words were cut off, only to be continued in a flat, unamused tone. “Shut up.”

Zenyatta ignored the demand. “When I filled you with Discord, I could sense the doubts that plague you.”

Reaper snapped his gaze to his faceplate like a bird of prey. The growl that reached the monk’s auditory sensors caused stray sparks to alight up and down his core, filling him with energy should he need to fight or flee. “Stay out of my head  _ pendejo. _ ”

He raised a hand placatingly. “Rest easy Reaper. I cannot read your thoughts any more than you can read mine. I simply sense your strongest emotions.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “You felt very... lonely.”

The wraith closed the distance between them quickly, fingers - tipped with talons once more - closing around Zenyatta’s throat, snarling angrily behind his mask. “Do  _ not _ presume to know me. I did not come here for your sympathy,  _ omnic _ .”

Zenyatta tilted his head back slightly to allow more room for Reaper’s rather large hand. He didn’t move otherwise, despite the wraith’s sudden proximity and the imminent threat level he possessed. The lone orb floating beside his head continued to chime quietly.

“You did come for my help, though, which I have agreed to.” He raised a hand and brushed his fingers over one of Reaper’s more severe wounds still in his abdomen, ignoring the flexing of the wraith’s talons around his neck. “I merely wished to ascertain that I was not opening up wounds that cannot be healed as easily as the physical ones I inflict upon you.”

Reaper huffed and let go of his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not gonna get torn up over a few bad thoughts.”

Zenyatta lowered his head, optics pinning Reaper with an unwavering intensity. “Our thoughts can be our greatest adversary. You struggle with yours more than most. You have anger in a quantity I have only seen in few other souls, in all my travels.”

“I didn’t come here for therapy,  _ cabrón. _ ”

Zenyatta gave a small sigh and bowed his head. “I need your honesty, my student. You need not tell me what you fear, or why your anger bleeds through everything you do.”

“Then what do you  _ want? _ ” Reaper snapped, interrupting him.

The omnic levitated off the floor slightly, looking down at the wraith. “I want nothing more than to help you.”

“Then shut up and get on with it.”

“As you wish.” 

The monk lashed out with his foot and it  _ cracked _ into Reaper’s face, sending the wraith spinning onto the ground with a snarl. When he turned a glowing red eye up to glare at him, his mask was cracked. Zenyatta whipped his orb at him and it clipped him in the jaw with enough force to snap his head back. 

“ _ Hijo de su chingada madre! _ ” Reaper swore, pushing himself up on one arm. Zenyatta sent his orb of destruction at the weight-bearing limb and had the wraith collapsing onto his back. He straddled his chest and pinned his shoulders beneath his knees, putting his hand over Reaper’s mask and slamming his head into the ground when he tried to sit up again.

“You will learn,  _ lechuza, _ that I am capable of fulfilling your desires and more.” He slipped a finger into one of the wounds in Reaper’s abdomen, pulling a grunt from the wraith, who was glaring murderously up at him but made no move to get out of the position he’d put them in. “You must allow me to show you.”

Reaper’s chest rose and fell with his deep breathing, and then he raised a hand and produced the knife for him to take once more. It was all the permission Zenyatta needed.

He took the knife. “You are very hard to kill. How... messy, are you comfortable with this getting?” 

Reaper didn’t snap back right away, so he assumed he was actually considering his question. He ran the blade along the wraith’s torso while he awaited an answer, tracing the edges of his wounds almost gently.

“Do not remove anything.” Zenyatta tapped the blade against Reaper’s mask questioningly. Reaper snorted. “That too, but I more meant body parts.”

“Are those more difficult to heal?” Genuine curiosity colored his tone.

“It takes a while to regen them, yeah.”

Zenyatta hummed and traced the blade along the edges of Reaper’s mask, watching the twin flames in the eye sockets follow the movement. He moved the knife towards one of the holes only for the flame to blink out of existence and appear alongside the other one. The omnic stilled in surprise.

Reaper turned both burning orbs up to his face, sneer audible beneath his mask. “What?”

The monk shook his head and moved the knife down to Reaper’s throat instead. The wraith’s eyes, or whatever they were, returned to normal once the threat of the blade was gone. Interesting.

Reaper tilted his head back with a low noise. Zenyatta felt his throat bob against his hand as he swallowed, and pressed the knife against it, marvelling as the wraith grew unnaturally still beneath him. He waited until Reaper exhaled before he drew the knife across his throat, the cut shallow for the time being.

The wraith shuddered beneath him as smoke trickled from the cut, and the monk moved his hand so that Reaper’s throat was bared to him. Zenyatta waited a moment before he cut a deeper line from chin to chest. Reaper arched and tried to gasp, smoke billowing from the wound, pooling around his head like a dark halo.

A quick check of Reaper’s life essence showed that it was barely affected. Zenyatta put a hand on Reaper’s forehead to force it back, stretching his neck taut. He carved another line across his throat, before pressing two fingers inside, and-

“Ah!” Zenyatta jerked his fingers back, the flash of pain disappearing as soon as they were free. He gave them a brief glance to ensure he hadn’t been damaged before he leaned closer to peer inside the smoke-obscured wound. Inside he saw jagged rows of sharp teeth lining Reaper’s throat, flexing as the wraith writhed beneath him.

“You continue to surprise me, Reaper.” Zenyatta said. Reaper didn’t reply, not that he had expected him to. Gathering the energy of discord from the orb by his head, he coated the blade in it.

This time when he cut Reaper’s throat, black smoke spouted upwards in a cloud before slowly falling back down around them. Reaper closed a hand around Zenyatta’s leg, the grip growing weak as his life faded.

Zenyatta marvelled at the teeth for a moment more before he withdrew healing energy from the orb and pressed it against the gaping wounds in Reaper’s throat. They mended slowly, knitting themselves beneath his palm.

“Come back to me  _ lechuza.  _ We are not yet finished.”

He waited until the spark of Reaper’s life essence pulsed with his version of vitality once more, and then he sank the blade into his shoulder and twisted it.

“ _ Mierda! _ Fuck!” Reaper’s voice was rougher and had a rasp it normally didn’t, but he had a voice. Zenyatta lifted his hand to inspect his throat, nodding in satisfaction at the shallow wounds that remained.

“Did you know your throat has teeth?”

Reaper stilled beneath him, turning to look at him. “....What did you say?”

Zenyatta pulled the knife from Reaper, ignoring his cry of pain. “Your throat is lined with rather a lot of very sharp pointed teeth.”

The hand on his leg tightened painfully. “You’re seeing things.”

“Ah, I see. An optical error, of course.” His tone was amused.

Reaper huffed, smoke puffing from beneath his mask. “Forget you saw it, then.”

The monk considered, before he traced his fingers gently over the remaining wounds on Reaper’s throat. “I will ignore them, if you truly wish it. But I will not forget them. You are so uniquely beautiful, it would be a shame for that to not be recognized by someone.”

Reaper barked a harsh laugh, letting go of his leg and propping himself up on his arm. “You’re not a someone. And I’m not beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. Especially not now.”

“In that we disagree.” 

Reaper groaned and lifted his other hand to rub over his mask. “You’re killing me.”

“That is what we agreed upon.”

An unimpressed glare met his words. “You’re more of an asshole than I thought, y’know that?”

Zenyatta’s voice held a certain sincerity when he answered: “And you are not half as evil as you would have everyone assume.”

Reaper snorted. “I’ve murdered countless people.”

“You are far from alone in that. What matters is what path you take next.”

A finger was jabbed into his chest plate, Reaper growling. “Don’t think this changes anything.”

“Of course not. I fully expect to be digging shot out of my frame the next time we meet on the battlefield.”

Reaper studied him a moment more before dropping onto his back again with a grunt. “All this talk is really killin’ the mood.”

“I can relight the candle and put some music on.” His voice held a smile that his faceplate couldn’t show.

“For fuck’s sake, I never knew you talked so much.”

Zenyatta stood and offered a hand to Reaper. “To be fair, we have not had many opportunities to converse.”

Reaper rose to his feet without his help, though he was a little unsteady, smoke still spilling from him like the condensation from an ice sculpture. “What’s wrong with the floor?”

“Your back is untouched. I would see that remedied.”

Reaper tilted his head in a way that made Zenyatta think he was arching an incredulous brow at him. “Leave it to a machine to be thorough, huh?”

Zenyatta bowed his head. “Have you never ensured those you were giving pleasure to were entirely satisfied?”

“There’s nothing pleasurable about this.” Reaper’s tone was flat, and he crossed his arms again, defensive.

“Shall I stop?”

“Are you trying to get me to beg or something, omnic? Because I can still shoot you.”

The omnic laughed softly and gestured for Reaper to follow him, walking to the bed. He stripped it of blankets but replaced the pillows, gesturing. “Get comfortable.”

Reaper hesitated before he stomped over and crawled onto the bed, laying on his stomach with a hiss. It wasn’t long before the smoke that was his blood leaked out from either side of him. The shadows of his hood kept his mask and strange burning eyes hidden from Zenyatta’s sight.

The monk relit the candle beside the bed and settled beside the wraith in lotus position. He called his other orbs to him and they settled into a ring around his neck that chimed softly, adding their own gentle glow to the room.

Reaper twisted to stare at him. “...You weren’t kidding about the candles and music.”

The great thing about being an omnic was everything he said was with a straight face. “That would require that I have a sense of humor.”

Reaper groaned and dropped his head into the pillow, his voice oddly not muffled despite the action. “ _ No manches... _ ”

Zenyatta held the blade over the candle, moving it and rotating it until the metal was heated enough that it would burn flesh.

“I’m going to proceed, if you are comfortable.” The wraith took a deep breath before waving a hand dismissively. Zenyatta nodded and made a deep laceration in Reaper’s upper back, his free hand pinning the wraith to the bed as he cried out in surprise and tried to twist away. This time, very little smoke escaped.

Reaper caught his breath and growled. “ _ Warn _ a guy, christ.”

“Ah, apologies my student. I was under the assumption that I was still not to hold your hand throughout this. I will be more mindful.” He rubbed a hand soothingly over his back. “Shall I continue?”

A wave of the wraith’s hand gave him the go ahead. He heated up the blade once more before cutting parallel to the wound before it. Reaper’s reaction was virtually identical to the first time.

“Does the heat hurt more?”

“No.” Zenyatta didn’t expect to get more than that, but ended up pausing with the knife hovering over Reaper’s back when the wraith continued: “It’s not the pain.”

“Then what?” He traced the hot blade over the material covering Reaper’s back, cutting it away from his flesh without cutting him. Beneath, the flesh was a mottled mess of dark and light skin. Zenyatta wondered what caused the pattern, but resisted asking. Reaper remained silent beneath him. 

He heated the blade up again and cut deeply along the lines of his ribs, the wraith crying out again, though this time it sounded as though he was biting the pillow to muffle himself. Which meant he had removed his mask. The omnic’s curiosity burned brightly. Still he refrained.

“ _ Lechuza _ , why do you cry out so?” He traced his fingers over the wounds that sluggishly bled black smoke, pooling in the indents where their respective weights pressed into the mattress.

A low growl vibrated throughout the wraith, resonating in Zenyatta’s sensors and eliciting a shiver of anticipation in his cortex. “You’re an enemy at my back,  _ pendejo _ , you figure it out.”

Zenyatta paused with the knife above Reaper’s patchwork flesh. He cocked his head, tone reproachful. “Reaper, if this position makes you uncomfortable, you need only tell me. Tonight is about fulfilling your desires.”

A harsh laugh wracked the wraith’s form even as he relaxed beneath the omnic. “You’re something else omnic. I come to you to kill me, and you’re worried about my  _ feelings _ .” His tone of voice made it clear enough how ridiculous he thought the notion.

Zenyatta made a sound like a clucking tongue and withdrew the knife. “I would not have agreed to this if I wasn’t prepared to take care of you in every sense of the word, my student. Your emotions are just as important as your physical well being. You came to me to inflict harm on the latter only.”

Reaper stiffened beside him. Slowly, he pushed himself up on his elbows and turned to look at the omnic. Zenyatta showed no outward reaction to seeing Reaper’s face as it appeared beneath the mask., even if he could only see half of it at this angle, the rest in shadow or covered by the hood.

His mouth was twisted on one side, a hole in his cheek showing his human molars, but the line of it curled down towards his throat and was lined with sharp teeth that gleamed in the darkness. Another gash filled with teeth was just below that and connected to the almost fully healed cuts on his neck. His eyes glowed red, and were approximately where they should be, but they were surrounded by many more eyes, all red and filled with heat and rage. Smoke poured from his mouth with every breath.

He was one of the most astonishingly beautiful things Zenyatta had seen since touching the Iris.

His face was hard to read with all the extra features, but his tense body language and the fingers curled in the mattress spoke volumes. Zenyatta wished to touch Reaper’s face comfortingly but knew it would be ill advised. So he waited patiently for the wraith to make the first move.

“You think a monster like me has emotions, omnic?” Watching him speak was fascinating, how the mouths flexed around the words, though the voice still seemed to resonate from deep within him. The eyes darted around the room of their own accord, blinking out of sync so that he could never be quite sure how many eyes there were at any given time.

“I don’t see a monster anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably only going to be one, maybe two more chapters. We'll see!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper sees the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Reaper. Last chapter in his POV.

Reaper laughed humorlessly, pushing himself up and letting his features be bared to the dim candlelight and that of the omnic’s orbs flashing runes as they chimed softly in the dimly lit room. He tipped his fingers with steel claws again and tore open the front of his clothing, revealing everything that Zenyatta had inflicted on him. He bared the teeth in his mouth with a snarl, gesturing to the twisted mess of his torso.

The slashes and punctures from his own knife were numerous; the omnic hadn’t held back, he’d give him that. Teeth and eyes sprouted amongst the mottled skin now that he wasn’t making such an effort to hold onto his human form. Seeing when he had so many eyes had been an interesting learning experience, but it had only been disorienting when he’d first learned of it. After that it had become second nature, and now he didn’t even blink at the multiple image inputs.

“Any sane person would run if they so much as  _ glimpsed _ this.” Reaper dug his fingers into one of the deeper wounds, spreading the flesh and showing the rows of teeth that had manifested within, smoke leaking from the gaps between them.

The omnic watched the display quietly and calmly, neither backing off nor showing any sign that he was affected. “I stand by what I said. You are no monster.” 

Reaper reached out with his other hand and wrapped it around Zenyatta’s neck, leaning close and making sure his optics got an  _ eyeful _ . “Look again,  _ omnic _ .”

The orbs spread so that they encircled both their heads, still chiming. He saw the monk reach towards him, ghosting his fingers between some of the eyes on Reaper’s chest, and over the tooth-filled gashes. There was no tremble in his hand or voice. “I would look upon you for hours. I have never before witnessed such a beautiful marvel.”

Reaper hissed and shoved the omnic back. “ _ Pendejo! _ You speak nonsense.”

Zenyatta merely drifted off the bed, levitating beside it and watching him. “I speak my truth. You may not see beauty in your form, but that doesn’t mean it is not there.”

Shadows curled tighter around him, covering him until his flesh was no longer visible. The darkness pulled back, leaving him dressed once more. With a gesture of his hand his mask reappeared over his face as well, albeit without the crack that Zenyatta’s foot had inflicted earlier. “I told you I didn’t come for therapy.”

Despite having no facial expression he somehow felt like the omnic was disappointed. Well, too fucking bad. His wounds had healed with his clothes, which was a damn shame. He’d been enjoying the flares of pain when he shifted position, however minutely.

“My apologies if I overstepped. I’m afraid I lose my tongue, so to speak, when introduced to new wonders.”

“Oh save your misplaced compliments omnic. I don’t want to hear it.” He got off the bed, standing on the other side of it, putting it between him and the monk. The orbs had only widened their circle, still slowly spinning and chiming around them both, albeit much further spaced out. 

Zenyatta bowed his head and settled back on the bed, holding a hand out towards him. “Then I shall not speak of it any longer. Will you rejoin me Reaper? I would still learn your desires, and do my utmost best to fulfill them.”

Distrust warred with longing within the wraith. He had come so far, and allowed the omnic to do so much to him already. He was so close to his ultimate fantasy...

With a low growl he knelt in front of Zenyatta, fists in his lap. “Don’t fuck up again.”

“Perhaps something more direct is in order. But it requires more trust than you have shown me thus far.”

That gave the wraith pause. He had trusted the omnic tonight with more than anyone else in many years. “I’m listening.”

“You have seen me pass into the Iris on the battlefield, yes?” Reaper nodded, and the omnic continued: “I am able to sense life and death within that state, more so than I can now. If I touch you while experiencing it, I suspect I may be able to bring you to the edge of death faster than I’ve managed so far.”

Reaper growled lowly. “I thought you used that lightshow for healing only.”

“The Iris holds the keys to life and death. They are, after all, two sides of the same coin.” 

“So you wanna, what? Shine at me?” It sounded as ridiculous out loud as it had in his head. 

The omnic gave a soft hum of amusement. “Why don’t I show you? It is easier than trying to explain.”

A long moment stretched between the two as Reaper considered it, blank mask meeting blank faceplate. Finally he scoffed. “Fine, but make it quick.”

“The Iris moves outside our understanding of time.” The monk said, cryptic as ever. Reaper rolled many of his eyes but resisted commenting. He watched as the omnic glowed faintly in the dark, the orbs freezing around the both of them, the sudden silence eerie.

Then a single pair of brilliant golden arms made of light manifested from behind Zenyatta. The wraith leaned back imperceptibly, watching them cautiously. “Cute party trick, but how does this help me?”

Rather than answer him, those golden arms reached for him, moving slow enough that he  _ could _ move if he wanted. He decided to let the omnic do whatever it was he was set on doing. The worst that could happen was nothing happened.

Reaper flinched when they made contact with him. “They’re real,” He said in barely hidden surprise.

“Of course.” One of the hands smoothed up his chest, while the other rubbed his thigh. Where they touched he felt a great warmth, like standing in a beam of sunlight. It made the sparse body hair he had left stand up on end. “They’re capable of many things. I will show you.”

And then the one on his thigh disappeared  _ into _ his leg, and he felt fingers closing around his femur, caressing his nerves from the inside. He gasped and pulled his arms away, but didn’t move otherwise. The heat he had felt through his clothing was nothing compared to feeling it  _ inside. _

“Jesus, that is some  _ serious _ witchcraft.” Reaper’s nerves jumped and twitched at the strange sensation of the omnic’s hand of light moving through his soft tissue as easily as dry sand. Fingers caressed his pelvic bone, and ran lightly along his femoral artery.

“You are agreeable to this method, then?” 

“Stop and I’ll kill you,” Reaper managed between grit teeth.

Zenyatta hummed. “That would be a most unfortunate turn of events.” His other golden hand dropped from Reaper’s chest to disappear into his other thigh, both of them gently caressing within him in a manner that had Reaper groaning. It was  _ hot _ and  _ intimate _ and he  _ ached _ for more.

Tremors ran through him, and he gave a harsh laugh when the monk pressed reassuring metal hands to his legs, rubbing the outside of them along with the golden ones within him. Reaper spread his legs eagerly, not caring what it looked like, assuming the omnic would not take it as an invitation.

Trusting him.

His breath hitched when one of the golden hands  _ squeezed  _ the muscle clinging to his femur. The pain was similar to a bad cramp, but soothed with the warmth of Zenyatta’s healing light. It was a juxtaposition that had him curling his fingers into the mattress, not caring that he’d apparently manifested claws again, nor that they shredded deeply into the material beneath him.

Both of the monk’s golden hands moved up to his abdomen, and Reaper gasped and fell onto his back, arching at the sensations. “Mierda!”

Zenyatta paused, hands still rubbing his thighs soothingly even as the golden hands stroked their thumbs along his spine. “Lie back,  _ lechuza. _ I will hurt you.”

It wasn’t a warning, but a promise. Reaper settled flat on his back and drew his legs out from beneath himself, planting a foot on either side of the omnic. He let out a long exhale, black smoke leaking from beneath his mask, before nodding sharply. “Do it.”

Metal hands pinned his hips to the bed, the omnic leaning over top of him to move his golden hands up along his spine until they rested within either of his lungs. Immediately he struggled to breath properly, inhales short and sweet, unable to take deeper breaths.

“You have teeth within even your organs. Do they manifest to protect you? Or are you always in pain?”

Reaper growled, the sound reverberating in his chest, the heat of Zenyatta’s golden hands pulsing within him. “Focus  _ omnic _ . I don’t got all night.”

The monk’s thumbs rubbed over his hips placatingly. “Then I won’t waste any more of your time.” Reaper didn’t have a chance to respond before the warmth became true  _ heat _ and a fire lit up everywhere the golden appendages touched. He arched his back with a surprised cry, claws gouging new slashes into the mattress.  _ Fuck _ , it was intense!

When the searing pain didn’t fade, Reaper thrashed, clouds of vapor thrown off his body in violent spasms, only to snap back into him. The teeth inside him tried to bite the invasive hands but while Zenyatta could touch him, those golden hands could not be touched. His teeth chewed on  _ him _ instead, his lungs filling with smoke once more, pouring from his mouth on every cry and shaky exhale.

And then one of those hands was around his heart, and he jerked away instinctively. The hand kept a tight grip and he had to lie very still very quickly to keep from ripping his own heart out. 

“Ah, so you do still have one. Rather strong as well.”

He supposed the omnic would know. The organ pulsed within the grip of his golden fingers, the pain forcing Reaper to a high he had not yet experienced, eyes rolling at the intensity of it all.

And then  _ teeth _ tried to bite at the hand touching his most vulnerable parts and only succeeded in sinking into his own flesh. He would be loathe to call the sounds coming from him screams, but it was an agony he had not felt since  _ becoming _ the Reaper. 

He managed to pry open his eyes and look up at the omnic, only to have his breath whisked from him in surprise. More golden arms had manifested and were pinning him to the bed, the omnic glowing so brightly that the entire room was illuminated as though by the sun at the height of day. His orbs spun rapidly around him, shining with their own brilliance.

The sight dredged up the buried memories of a robed skeleton holding a scythe and a globe, wreathed in light. In that moment he could believe that he was glimpsing the Sacred Death.

“ _ Eres Santa Muerte! _ ” 

“Not quite, but I’m flattered.” The hand tightened around his heart, and he choked when it skipped the next few beats. “Fitting, nonetheless. She is why I call you  _ lechuza,  _ my student.”

Reaper’s next words were almost a sob. “¡ _ Mátame ya!” _

“As you wish.”  
  
The excruciating pain of his heart being crushed in the palm of the monk’s golden hand was blessedly short-lived. Darkness enveloped him, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done. One more chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end.

Zenyatta watched Reaper’s life force snuff out with the flex of his fingers. He ended his connection with the Iris just as Reaper seemingly dissipated into smoke. It rolled lazily off the bed and onto the floor, seeking shadows to curl up in. Reaper’s mask on his torn up mattress was soon the only sign the wraith had ever been there.

He gathered the orbs of his mala back around his throat and lit several candles about the room, containing the wraith to a single corner, all the smoke fleeing and billowing in the small pocket of darkness there. He flipped the mattress and remade the bed, settling on it with Reaper’s mask resting before him.

He waited.

It was nearly an hour before the shadows in the corner began to pull together, forming almost recognizable shapes before collapsing into smoke again. Zenyatta watched with interest as Reaper slowly, methodically, pulled himself together.

Several times part of him would simply slough off and hit the floor with a puff of smoke before winding back up his body to reattach to the ragged wounds that looked to be filled with eyes and teeth. He seemed to pay it no mind, staggering towards the omnic once his legs were working well enough.

Zenyatta caught him at the foot of the bed, not entirely sure what caused the wraith to stumble. It was a testament to how exhausted Reaper must be that he allowed it, sagging against the monk with what almost sounded like a sigh of relief.

“Come here, my student. Sit and rest for a moment.” He guided him onto the bed and managed to prop him up against the headboard. Reaper didn’t fight; he moved where he was prompted. “Very good. Do you need water or food?”

Thin wisps of smoke escaped from behind the mask, but otherwise Reaper’s body held itself together. “Drink,” he rasped, voice somehow even rougher than usual. Zenyatta recalled the teeth that had lined his inner organs and wondered how long it took them to cease manifesting, or if Reaper was in constant agony from his own unique biology.

The monk made a mental note to speak with Dr. Ziegler as soon as he could, to ask about her Caduceus staff. As a fellow healer, the likelihood of his questions raising suspicion were slim to none. Perhaps he could find some answers to the mystery that was the Reaper.

He slipped into the bathroom to fill the glass that sat beside the mouthwash. Items he would never need but those who might share his company would appreciate him having. He exited the room, half expecting Reaper to be gone.

Instead, the wraith was right where he’d left him, though his head was tilted back and there was no red glow in the sockets of the mask. Zenyatta approached, making sure he made noise. Reaper lifted his head, those twin flames alighting as he reached for the glass.

Zenyatta sat beside him on the bed, turning to watch as he lifted the mask enough to drink the water. He took the empty glass from him and set it on the side table. Reaper gave a low growl, but it seemed to be nothing more than him testing his vocal chords.

“Anything else you would have from me?”

A longer growl; when Reaper next spoke his voice was more or less back to normal. “Like what.”

“Everyone is different. Perhaps something to eat? Or a bath? I am also quite skilled at massage, or so I’m told. Of course, physical contact or even a simple conversation are also options.”

The wraith laughed, and the disbelief in the sound saddened Zenyatta greatly. “The fuck would you wanna do any of that for?”

“To ensure you feel taken care of, so you don’t drop later when I am unable to see to you.” The omnic carefully rested a hand on Reaper’s outstretched thigh, keeping an optic on his body language to see if he was pushing boundaries. “Whatever our history, I want you to be well,  _ lechuza. _ ”

There was no reaction to his touch or words. Zenyatta sat in silence, willing to wait as long as the wraith required. “...How likely are you to tell someone if pressed?”

“As likely as you are to show up to breakfast in the morning and hold a civil conversation with Soldier:76.” He didn’t try to hide the teasing tone in his voice.

Reaper snorted, smoke billowing from under his mask but dissipating quickly. “So a cold day in hell.” He turned those burning red eyes on him. “Why would I believe you?”

Zenyatta rubbed his thumb in soothing circles on Reaper’s thigh. “You trusted me with your life tonight. Why would I betray that trust? What benefits are there?”

“Blackmail. If you let your  _ friends _ know,” he spat the word like a curse, “They could use the information against me.”

Zenyatta cocked his head. “You knew this before you sought me out. If you did not think I was capable of keeping your secret, you wouldn’t have risked yourself like this.”

“You’re so sure? I nearly went to the Widowmaker for this, I was so  _ desperate _ .” His gloved fingers curled into the blankets. Zenyatta was thankful he didn’t have the clawed gauntlets manifested.

“But you didn’t. You were faced with a choice, and you did what you thought would lead to your desires being fulfilled safely.” He continued to rub Reaper’s thigh, quietly thrilled that the wraith wasn’t pushing him away. “And hopefully fulfilled satisfactorily.”

A grunt met his unspoken question. “I’m going to be chasing a high that good for the rest of my life.” He snorted again, and shrugged “Undeath.”

The hum that emitted from his voice box couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than pleased. “I am glad it was an enjoyable session.” He could feel the turmoil growing inside of Reaper; he squeezed his thigh reassuringly. “Speak to me. I am here for you.”

“Why? What have I done to earn this compassion from you, omnic?” He sounded tired, more than anything. “I have tried to kill you before, and will again. This changes nothing.”

“So you keep saying.” Zenyatta moved to hover in front of Reaper, legs in lotus position and hands resting easily in his own lap. He didn’t miss Reaper shifting the leg he had been touching. “But now is not before or after.”

A scowl colored Reaper’s reply: “Cut the bullshit,  _ cabrón. _ You can’t possibly be this...” He gestured at him in frustration.

“Understanding? Willing to put our differences aside?”

“Stupid.” The tone of the word made it sound as though he had wanted to say something worse.

“I am not you, Reaper. I do not carry my grudges like a burden wherever I go. When I say that I give my help and compassion freely with no strings attached, I mean it.”

“How would you explain this should they find out?”

Zenyatta recognized that Reaper was purposely trying to cause conflict, building up his metaphorical walls again after allowing himself to be vulnerable. “That I was helping someone in need. They do not need to know the details.” He drew forth one of his orbs from around his neck and spun it in his palm between them. Reaper’s twin red flames focused on it readily. “They trust me.”

Reaper gave an ugly snort, smoke puffing out from behind the mask over the orb before dissipating. “Until they learn I have visited you.”

“Athena has undoubtedly detected your presence one of the many times you nearly came to me. That is proof enough that you mean no harm when seeking me out.”

A long pause stretched between them, before Reaper cautiously reached out for the orb, curling his fingers around it and pulling it towards him. The wraith turned his hand over, sitting up straighter when the orb hovered just above his palm, chiming gently. “...I never expected you to help me.”

“But you hoped. And that was enough to encourage you to try and reach out to me.” He settled his hands on Reaper’s shoulders and pulled him towards him as he leaned forward, resting their foreheads against one another. “And it paid off.”

Reaper leaned against him heavily, eye sockets in his mask going blank. “ _ Yes.” _

The omnic rubbed one hand over the wraith’s back, the single orb between them chiming. He allowed the silence to stretch for a few moments before filling it, not quite trusting Reaper’s mind to not turn on itself and plague him with even more doubt or regret. “I would have you know that I, too, enjoyed this. Thank you for the opportunity to learn you so intimately, and for allowing me the pleasure of seeing your true self.”

The wraith curled his shoulders inwards, fingers forming claws against his own legs, but he didn’t push Zenyatta away. “I didn’t do it for  _ you, pendejo. _ ”

“My thanks remain. That you trusted me when you had nowhere else to turn is a gift, one I do not plan to squander.” He slid his hands down to rest in the middle of Reaper’s back, his own knees hovering over and not quite touching the wraith’s own. A few more inches and he would practically be in his lap.

“Good, because you can’t refund.” Reaper growled out. The orb over his upturned palm continued to chime softly.

Zenyatta gave a genuine chuckle. “A joke? Perhaps there is hope for you yet, my student.”

Reaper looked up, his red eyes meeting Zenyatta’s optic array. There was no feasible way he was unaware of their current position. Which meant he was allowing it, and the omnic couldn’t help but be curious as to how far he’d let him go. He didn’t plan on pushing him any further that night, regardless.

“How long were you planning on keeping me?” There was a note of resignation in his tone, and Zenyatta knew he had won this small victory.

“As long as you are comfortable staying. Though perhaps before the sun rises, else you risk being either trapped in my room all day or seen sneaking out.”

Reaper snorted, but the eye sockets of his mask grew empty once more, and he relaxed. “Sounds boring. I guess I’ll duck out soon, then.”

“Whatever you wish.”

They fell into silence. They kept their foreheads together as the orb chimed between them. Zenyatta’s arms were around Reaper in the closest semblance to an embrace that he was going to get from the wraith. He was glad to get even that much.

After a while, it was Reaper that broke the silence.

“Where did you learn all that anyways?”

“From you.”

Reaper lifted his head and pulled away enough that Zenyatta allowed his hands to slip from around him, resting in his own lap again. “What? When?”

Zenyatta moved back to settle in front of the wraith, orb rejoining his mala and falling still and silent once more. “Tonight, of course.”

He sensed disbelief coming from Reaper. Then the wraith laughed, sounding genuine if not a little out of practice. “You had no idea what you were doing.”

“Not a clue. We were both in the dark in that regard. I learned you as we went along,  _ lechuza. _ ”

He shook his head, but didn’t seem too inclined to pursue the topic further. “Unbelievable.” He leaned back against the headboard and cocked his head at the omnic. “How much of what you learned can you use against me?”

“That is a highly subjective question. I could ask the same of you.” A noncommittal noise was his only answer, the wraith looking away. A touchy subject, then. “I won’t use it against you, regardless of what ‘it’ might entail.”

“I can’t say the same.” He didn’t sound apologetic, but there was no threat in his words either. It was merely fact.

Zenyatta reached out to squeeze Reaper’s thigh. “I do not expect anything from you. Once you leave this room what you do is on you, Reaper.”

“And when I come back?”

Not if, but when. How curious. Zenyatta patted his knee. “We will set down ground rules and engage. No expectations. No assumptions. Just clear communication and the fulfillment of your desires.”

Reaper’s gaze flickered a moment. “And what of your desires, huh omnic? You get off on this.”

The monk gave an elegant shrug. “It was enjoyable. I have already said as much. You will not catch me ashamed of what we have done or for desiring you.”

The wraith stiffened. “....Desire me in what way?”

Zenyatta realized his word choice had set Reaper on edge. He did his best to soothe him. “Only in the ways you freely offer. I will never ask for more than that. You are safe to set boundaries and trust they will not be crossed.”

Reaper relaxed after a moment of consideration. “Guess you don’t really have a libido.”

“Untrue, but it differs from how humans experience it, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“You think we should risk meeting again?”

Zenyatta put a smile in his voice, as kind as he could manage. “Do you think that you can give it up now that you know you can have it?”

Silence met his question, until Reaper  _ huffed _ like a haughty teenager and looked away. “Touché.”

“I look forward to it.”

Reaper stayed silent for a moment before he laughed. “ _ Mierda _ , me too.”

The wraith ghosted to his feet, standing beside the bed and looking down at the monk. Zenyatta turned to look up at him. “Time for farewell?”

“Yeah, I should split.” He hesitated, then: “Thanks, omnic.”

Zenyatta nodded. “  _ Lechuza.” _

“You know who I am." He sounded accusatory.

“You are the Reaper.”

The eyeroll was obvious even from behind the mask. “Who I was.”

“I do.”

“Then why don’t you call me that?”

“Because it is not who you are any longer.” He stood and placed a hand on Reaper’s shoulder once more. “You are safe to be yourself around me, Reaper.”

A moment passed before Reaper dissipated into smoke without another word, and slipped between the slats of the vent on the wall. He was gone.

Zenyatta took his time blowing out the candles, replacing the glass in the washroom, and making the bed again. He put his mala away for the night, and lit a stick of incense. Once he was sure everything was in order, he lay upon the bed and powered down.

He dreamed of a rich, dark laugh, and a shadow with too many eyes and teeth swallowing him whole.

It was a good dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it.
> 
> But I may or may not be planning a multichapter sequel exploring this dynamic more and the consequences of their actions among their teammates.


End file.
